


Ideal Situation

by kaydeefalls



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-02
Updated: 2003-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeefalls/pseuds/kaydeefalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein a situation is analyzed, felt, and discussed. Or something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ideal Situation

**Author's Note:**

> Each part written in a different style.

**1\. Perfect Pair (Analysis)**

Elijah and Billy suit each other. No one's quite sure why. They seem like the unlikeliest of pairs. Youngest and oldest of the hobbits, Hollywood and Glasgow, countless movies and a life on a stage. But they suit each other.

Billy's eyes crinkle up when he laughs. He laughs a lot when he's drunk. If someone surprises him at just the right moment, he shrieks like a girl. His voice is warm and lilting. A person could listen to him talk forever.

Elijah likes a lot of things about Billy.

He especially likes watching Billy surf. Billy isn't very good, but that doesn't matter. What matters is the expression on his face when he actually catches a wave, and rides it. That's when Elijah is treated to the ear-to-ear Billy grin. Even from the beach, Elijah can hear him laughing. And he pictures Billy's eyes crinkling up as he laughs.

"Hey, that's a pretty good one!" Dominic shouts at the lone figure on the surfboard. He flops down on the sand next to Elijah, body radiating warmth.

Elijah keeps his gaze fixed on the surfing Billy. Dominic is probably smirking at him right this very second, but Elijah won't look to make sure.

A sharp nudge in the ribs. "Your boyfriend's getting better at this stuff," Dominic says in his rich, very British accent. His voice is light and teasing, mischievous and friendly.

"Yeah," Elijah says, trying to ignore Dominic's cheerful drawl.

Billy runs down the sand towards them, dripping wet and grinning like a loon. "Did you see that? Did you?"

His rolling Scottish lilt isn't quite as charming anymore. But Elijah smiles at him anyway. Because Billy suits him.

*

Billy and Elijah go well together. Some people don't really see the chemistry, but it's there. They balance each other out. They learn from each other. It's a good system. It has its flaws, but overall Billy and Elijah go well together.

Elijah is a considerate smoker. He never blows smoke in anyone else's direction, even if they're nicotine addicts, too. He giggles a little too easily, and a little too high-pitched. His hair is all tousled when he wakes up. His eyes practically glow when he's excited. He gets excited a little too easily, too.

Billy is fond of Elijah and his silly little faults.

He's especially fond of early-morning Elijah, in the trailer. Elijah's smile is sleepy, and his eyes are almost muted. He isn't as twitchy. He puts on CD after CD, and the music can be soft and soothing or loud and obnoxious. But Billy doesn't mind, because Elijah loves this eclectic variety of sound.

"Wonder who made this album," Dominic comments from his chair, leaning forward so that his words are for Billy alone. "I'm guessing it involves a few screechy cats and a dead guitarist."

Billy is careful not to turn around. Dominic isn't exactly at peak funny levels in the mornings, and Billy really ought to tease him about it. But he won't even allow himself a glance over his shoulder.

A loud roaring noise emanates from the other end of the trailer, words garbled by the flimsy partition. Dominic laughs, practically in Billy's ear. "Elijah, I think Sir Ian is saying you have hideous taste in music." His breath is warm on the back of Billy's neck. He's still chuckling, a light rumble that only Billy can hear.

Elijah giggles like a maniac as he gets up to change the CD. He has a high-pitched giggle. It isn't quite as cute as it usually is, but Billy laughs with him anyway. Because he and Elijah go well together.

*

Elijah and Billy make a good team. Everyone says opposites attract. And there are a few things they have in common, and those are the important ones. They make a good team.

Their first experiments together were a little awkward, as comfort fucks can be. Both had more experience with women than with men, and they didn't quite know how to go about it properly. But they figured it out quickly enough.

They appreciate each other.

They especially appreciate each other's gentle understanding. Before sex, during sex, after sex, whenever. Not that they're always physically gentle, but Billy understands Elijah understands Billy very well indeed. They laughed -- a little embarrassed -- the first time, when they realized they'd both groaned the same name.

They're better about that now. Billy remembers to whisper "Elijah," as Elijah grabs him and remembers to moan "Billy."

And if they're both thinking of someone else -- well, who needs to know? And they're sure Dominic doesn't notice, because Elijah and Billy make a good team.

*

 **2\. Weird Something (Sensation)**

"You two make a fucking weird something," you tell them.

Elijah blinks lazily across the table at you. "What something, Dom?"

"Us something," Billy says affectionately, lightly whacking Elijah on the shoulder with one hand. You watch as Billy's other hand slides somewhere further down and -- oh.

You grip your beer bottle tightly. It's getting warm. Too warm. Whether it's you or the bottle, you can't tell. The label is damp with condensation. Damp and clammy. Like your hands, probably. Ugh. "Something something," you mutter.

Elijah's eyes look a bit glazed over, and he's biting his lip. You don't look for Billy's hand, don't think about smooth fingertips against pale skin. You peel absently at the soggy bottle label with a fingernail, pulling it away slowly, and don't think about easing a rough-edged zipper downwards, don't contemplate Elijah's tight jeans or how easy they must be to undo.

You pretend that the soft zipping sound is really your gentle tearing of the label. Never mind that damp bottle labels don't make any noise when you rip them. And the barely audible moan, that's -- oh, fuck this. You mean to glare across the table, to tell them to cut it out, maybe slam your bottle down and break it and cover you all with lukewarm beer and sharp little shards of brown glass. Cutting into your hands, small slivers of pain. They would notice that. They would have to. You look up, scowling, preparing yourself.

Two pairs of eyes -- one blue, one green -- are staring intently at you. You swallow hard, and the bottle slips from your fingers. It doesn't shatter, but you do get a lapful of not-quite-warm-enough beer.

*

Your bed is far too large. You try to spread out across it, arms and legs stretching as far as possible, needing to take up all the space. The smooth sheets are cool against your skin. Too cool. Empty. God, you hate the way they feel. They make you wish it was winter, so you could pull out a flannel blanket and wrap yourself in it and pretend the warmth came from someone else's body heat. But these sheets never warm up, never get tangled up at your feet or damp with mingled sweat. They're just there.

Your trailer is silent all night. So Billy never came home, then. Bastard. You can't wait for the day you all rent your own houses, no more shared trailers forcing the knowledge of a certain costar's nightly absences upon his flatmate. You wonder what Elijah's sheets feel like right now. Tangled sweaty damp hot, or maybe they slip off the bed entirely, urged away by two pale sweaty damp hot bodies.

When you wake up, your sheets are still too cool, with one small, sticky, and vaguely unpleasant invisible stain. One of _those_ dreams, too clearly remembered. Great. Fuck.

*

Wardrobe is dark and quiet, and you practically jump out of your skin when you feel a hand grasp your shoulder.

"Steady on, Dom," Billy laughs gently.

You extricate yourself from a mess of costumes -- elven, judging by the velvety sheen -- and glare through the gloom. "What are you on about, scaring a bloke half to death? Haven't you heard of switching on the lights?"

"Figured you wanted it dark, or you'd have turned them on yourself." Billy's hand slips down your arm, coming to rest just under your elbow. You try not to shiver at the light pressure. "We were wondering where you were hiding yourself."

"We?"

"Me and Lij. We weird somethings."

Billy's breath is warm against your neck. You pull away. "Weird something. Singular. Not somethings."

"Whatever. Why are you in here, Dommie?"

You gesture vaguely at the costumes. "Um," you say eloquently.

The door eases open silently. You wouldn't even have noticed if you weren't looking at it. Elijah peers in. "You guys in here?"

"Found him," Billy replies, still keeping his eyes trained on you.

Elijah slips in, pushing the door closed behind him. He blinks in your general direction a few times, his eyes apparently adjusting to the dim light. "Hey."

"Congratulations, you found me." You jerk away from Billy's persistent touch and almost trip over the small heap of costumes you've already knocked off their hangers. "I wasn't aware that I was even hiding."

Billy reaches out and grabs your arm again. "Weren't you?"

"Nope."

A sigh. "Well, at any rate, Elijah and I were talking last night, and..."

"Oh, talking. Is that what you're calling it now?"

This time, it's Elijah who pulls you back when you try to slip away. "Christ, Dom, would you cut the bullshit for two seconds?"

"You were right," Billy continues, before you have the chance to open your mouth. "We do make a fucking weird something."

"Unlikely," Elijah puts in, drawing you closer.

"Inconceivable," Billy agrees, pulling you closer still.

You try to read their expressions, but the lighting is lousy. Two pairs of eyes peering at you through the gloom. Two different hands, one on each of your arms, clutching you gently but firmly. Your costume is uncomfortably warm, clinging with the beginnings of sweat. "Er," you say. Their hands burn through the thin fabric of your sleeves.

"So we were wondering," someone whispers, and you can't tell which of them it is, "if maybe you were interested in bridging the gap."

"Gap?"

"Well, y'know," and that drawl has to be Billy's, and so that must be Billy's hand abandoning your arm and creeping further south, "in a way, you're the reason we became this weird something."

"How so?"

"What else did we have in common?" Elijah asks, and it doesn't seem right that his voice could sound so matter-of-fact when you can practically feel the words against your lips. Elijah's nose bumps up against yours.

"Oh," you say.

Elijah's lips find yours at about the same moment that Billy's hand finds your crotch. You try to figure out exactly how all three of you are managing to fit together like this. You fail spectacularly, probably because it just isn't possible to think coherently when you're swapping spit with Elijah Wood _and_ being groped by Billy Boyd, all at the same time.

You're pretty much completely pressed up against Elijah, which would mean that Billy's hand is right between -- _oh_. You gasp into the kiss, can feel Elijah's low chuckle vibrating through your whole body. Wait, Elijah is supposed to have a high-pitched giggle, not a low chuckle. You've certainly teased him enough about it. So the low chuckle is probably Billy. Which makes sense, seeing as how Billy is currently in the unique position of having his hand between two blokes' most sensitive areas. Plus, your tongue is still somewhere down Elijah's throat, or maybe vice-versa, so it can't possibly be Elijah chuckling. Right.

Figuring out the logistics of this most interesting turn of events is going to drive you mad, so you give up and just go with the flow.

Billy's hand shifts away from your crotch, just a smidgen, and Elijah yelps into your mouth and almost bites your lip. You pull out of the kiss, meet Elijah's eyes in a flash of silent communication. Two seconds later, you both have Billy pinned to the floor -- or, rather, the pile of elf costumes, which is a tad more comfortable. There's a lot of awkward bumping and shifting at first, trying to keep those blasted oversized prosthetic Feet out of harm's way, and then a few muttered curses as you try to figure out how to unbutton Billy's trousers. Fucking costumes. Never work quite the way you expect 'em to. Elijah helps.

You can't can't _can't_ do any damage to your costumes, which distressingly limits your current options. Never mind that you haven't the faintest idea how long you have until they'll need you on set; better to get in trouble for being late than for destroying costumes. And, um, you hope the pile you're lying on isn't too important. Then Billy's trousers finally come undone, and he's reaching up to unbutton your shirt while Elijah gets to work on _your_ trousers, and you forget to worry about anything except the ridiculously slow pace they're going at. "Oh, fuck this," you breathe, and swat Elijah's hands away. You haven't had a chance to kiss Billy yet, after all.

Billy tastes like...oh, nothing in particular and everything all at once. Like Billy. Different from Elijah -- less smoky, less pliable. And since when is pliability a taste? Well, it is now. A flavor. Kissing Elijah was almost tentative, uncertain. Billy is more urgent. A different flavor. Which makes sense, given that Billy's trousers are somewhere around his ankles (but not off completely, fucking Feet!) and you're already working out plans for the rather obvious evidence of his arousal. The current conditions are nothing like your usual sex-with-Billy fantasies, but you've always been good at improvising. Especially since your sex-with-Elijah fantasies are being factored in as well. Funny, how it had never occurred to you to combine the two.

Well, it's certainly occurring to you now.

And, hey, speaking of Elijah, what's the little bugger up to now? You pull away from Billy a little, sneak a look over. Elijah is...badly in need of a wank, actually, judging by the rather frantic expression in those oversized eyes of his. But then again, who here isn't? You hesitate, half tempted to reach out and grab Elijah (not quite like _that_ , ow!) and half tempted to ignore him and carry on with Billy. Seeing as Billy already has his trousers down, and Elijah's fancy velvet Frodo-pants are probably far too complicated to get undone... but that wouldn't really be fair, now, would it?

"How long have you wanted this?" Elijah asks, almost a whisper.

Um. He can't honestly expect you to be able to _think_ right now, can he? "I dunno." Billy's stomach warms up quickly beneath your palm. A trickle of sweat runs down your forehead, cheek, chin. Elijah's eyes are piercing, even through the dim light. "A long time. Before filming started, even."

Billy reaches up to you, curls his hand around the back of your neck. "Why didn't you ever say anything to either of us?"

You lower your head, breathe against Billy's lips. You can feel Elijah's intense gaze on you, making the side of your face tingle. "Couldn't choose. And then you two, well..."

"Weird something-ed," Billy murmurs, spelling the words out against your lips. Mmm. Yes.

"Yeah," you breathe, once you've spent a few seconds or years kissing Billy. "So I didn't think you were interested."

"Oh, we're not," Elijah half-giggles, nudging you off Billy and reaching out to finish unbuttoning your trousers. "Not interested at all."

Billy clears his throat pointedly, drawing attention to his own woefully ignored state. Yeah, that's the trouble with threesomes, isn't it? Bloody impossible to keep track of everyone. Not that you're complaining...

You and Elijah both reach for Billy's cock at the same time, and it's like an electric shock as your hands collide there, fingers almost instinctively lacing together at the point of contact. Your twined hands loosen a bit, begin stroking Billy together experimentally. He groans, barely audible, and Elijah flashes you a smile. Without interrupting the rhythm on Billy's cock, you lean over to kiss Elijah.

The kiss is slow and careful at first, but increases in heat and urgency as you stroke Billy faster, harder. It's a wonderful chain reaction -- Elijah sucks hard on your tongue, your hand on Billy tightens in response to the added pressure, Billy practically bucks his hips, you bite Elijah's lower lip.

"Come on," Billy gasps. You ease away from Elijah's mouth, grin, and lower your head to Billy's crotch. You gently tug Elijah's hand away, and lick the tip of Billy's cock experimentally. Billy writhes on the pile of costumes. Velvet, satin, silk, cotton. Soft. Cool. Damp...

As you take Billy into your mouth, you feel lips pressing gently against your neck. Elijah kisses his way down from your jaw to your collarbone, then back up again. He pauses on the way to leave a few kisses on Billy's thigh, as close to the crotch as he can get with your head in the way. Billy quivers, and you take a moment to carefully pull away from him and grin over at Elijah.

"Dom," Billy growls warningly. You lick your lips, deliberately, just to see how far you can push him. Tease him a little. Draw it out --

Holyfuckingshit _light_. The room is suddenly flooded with light. Elijah curses, Billy tenses, and you jerk your head up to squint at the door, blinking to clear your eyes.

Sean isn't laughing. Much. "So this is where you've all been hiding yourselves. Ngila's gonna kick your asses. So is Peter, if you're not on set in five minutes. And," he adds, eyes twinkling, "you all have very _nice_ asses, by the way."

You all scramble with costumes and buttons, trying to ignore your painfully protesting erections. Poor Billy, especially. "Fuck, Sean," Elijah whines, "you just _had_ to come in here, didn't you?"

Sean smiles and leans against the doorframe. "Yup. I was feeling all lonely and left out."

"You poor bastard," you mutter. Your trousers are uncomfortably tight.

"Oh, shut up and count your blessings. I could've been Ngila. Or Richard Taylor."

You start to complain, but you feel Elijah's warm hand slipping into your own, fingers threading together, and Billy catches your eye with a decidedly lascivious wink. Your brain short-circuits before you can form any words. _Later_ , two pairs of eyes -- one blue, one green -- promise. Your groin doesn't ache any less, but the annoying little interruption just isn't as important anymore.

"You know," Sean says conversationally as you finish straightening out your costumes, "it's not that I'm particularly surprised or anything, but you three make one weird group."

He doesn't understand why you all burst out laughing.

*

Your bed isn't too large at all, you decide. In fact, it's just the right size. And you like your sheets a lot, too -- especially when they're tangled up at the foot of the bed, forgotten, all sweaty damp hot wonderful.

*

 **3\. Ideal Situation (Discussion)**

 _(Elijah)_

How long has it been since we saw Billy last? Too fucking long. But here we are, finally back in New Zealand for _Two Towers_ reshoots, and there's Billy, napping in an armchair in the hotel lounge.

Dom pokes me. "Come on, let's wake him up."

"He looks tired."

"So?" He raises an eyebrow at me. "We haven't seen him since... since... oh, bugger it, since forever, at least. We should welcome him."

"He got here first. _He_ should be welcoming _us_. And, um, I think he stayed with us for the Oscars--"

"--which _you_ were invited to and _we_ weren't. Yeah, I remember that."

"Stop glaring at me, it wasn't my fault. Hell, _I_ wasn't even invited. Not properly."

"You went."

"As Peter's special guest."

"What makes _you_ more special than me 'n Bills, huh?"

"I'm fucking Frodo, man!"

"You're fucking Frodo?"

"No, _you_ are. Shut up."

"Is it even technically possible to fuck your own character?"

"Monaghan..."

"Oooh, now I'm scared. Kindly remove your elbow from my ribs."

"Not until you remove _your_ hand from my ass."

"Elijah! I'm shocked! In public, too!"

"What public?" I demand, kicking the lounge door shut behind us. "And why are _you_ shocked? _You're_ the one who--" And then I'm effectively silenced by Dom's tongue in my mouth. Which, y'know, isn't the worst way to lose an argument.

"Er, lads?"

I pull away from Dom. "Billy!" He's awake, apparently, watching us with a small smirk on his face. Dom and I create a two-person stampede in our race to see who can jump Billy first.

"Oof!" That's Billy, after I win the little race. " _Oof_!" That's Billy again, after Dom decides to just jump us both.

Dom laughs, planting lots of sloppy little kisses all over Billy's face. Billy grins. I nuzzle my nose into his neck. Billy's body is warm beneath mine, and Dom's arm slips down around my waist. Hell, I've missed this. Even if Billy is a little awkward, doesn't quite know what to do with the lapful of us. It's not some stupid fucking romance novel, not everything clicks. But still.

I glance up at Dom, who leaves off his enthusiastic greeting for a second to kiss me lightly, tightening his hold on my waist. Billy chuckles, and I can feel the vibration all up and down the length of my body.

This is the way it's supposed to be.

*

 _(Dom)_

How long has it been since we saw Billy last? The Oscars, Lij says, and I believe him. I just can't figure out how it could've been that long.

But nothing changes, not really. Not when we're back in the makeup trailer, more than a year after filming wrapped, leaning against the wall at some godawful hour while those fucking rubber boats are being glued onto our feet. Nothing changes.

"You know what I didn't miss?" Elijah groans from somewhere behind my left ear.

"This?"

"You got it."

"But, Elijah! The gorgeous New Zealand sunrise!"

"What sunrise? I see no sunrise. All I see is the back of your stupid head, and I could be seeing _that_ back in L.A."

"The fresh, clean New Zealand air!"

"At least the air back home is _warm_ in June. It's fucking _winter_ outside, Dom."

Billy decides to join the conversation. "Aye, I'd forgotten about the funny seasons here. All backwards."

"Billy!" I proclaim triumphantly. They both give me strange looks. "Billy's here. Now. Not in L.A. So there."

"This is true," Elijah admits thoughtfully. "Billy."

"Right," Billy says, oddly subdued. "I'm here."

I reach over my Feet-applier's head to poke him. "Oi, why'd you never move in with us in L.A., anyway?"

Billy opens his mouth, but Elijah's the one who answers. "Are you nuts? There's barely room for the two of us in that fucking guest house. Where would we _put_ him?"

"In the garage?"

"No bed."

"In our bed?"

"Barely big enough for two. Not that there's anything wrong with a tight squeeze..."

"Mate, you need to get your own flat. Enough with the living-at-home-with-Mum stuff."

"Says the guy who's living in my mom's guest house with me. I'll get my own place when you do, Dommie, how's that?"

"You're on, Lij." I grin over at Billy. "Hey, maybe then you can finally come join us!"

Billy smiles. "Aye, maybe."

Yeah, it's good to be together again, all three of us. Even if Billy's quieter than usual. I mean, it's fucking early, and we're all pretty knackered, right? Besides, it's been just me and Elijah for months, we can understand if it takes a day or two (or a night or two, ha) to readjust. But nothing actually changes. Not really.

This is the way it's supposed to be.

*

 _(Billy)_

How long has it been since I saw Dom and Elijah last? I haven't the foggiest. I don't count the days anymore, if I ever did. We're three up-and-coming film stars. We can't be together all the time. And it's great to see them again, to be back in New Zealand where this whole business started.

Great, and different.

"How much longer do we have for lunch?" I ask them.

"Um." Elijah ponders the clock propped up against the wall of the food tent. "Twenty minutes?"

Dom slips between us on the bench, slinging one arm around me and one around Elijah. He grins wickedly. "We should find Wardrobe. Pay it a little commemorative visit."

"It's not the same," Elijah sighs. "I already checked."

"How so?"

"Smaller. Different place. Just a trailer, really. Not as many costumes. Blah."

"Eh." Dom waves a hand dismissively. "So what? Same difference. Anyway, it's the thought that counts, right? That was an important place."

"But it's not the _same_ place. And besides, it wasn't that big a deal."

"Not that big a--"

"Billy and I had been fucking for weeks. And not in Wardrobe, either."

"But that was the first time _I_ joined you, which makes all the difference."

"It was just a wank in the dark. If you want a first time, we _should_ find your old trailer, 'cause that was the first place we--"

"My old _trailer_ looked like every other trailer in New Zealand. We'll never track it down."

"Exactly, so what's the point?"

"The point was to do it in Wardrobe."

"Which isn't the same Wardrobe."

"Oh, fuck you," Dom laughs, and kisses Elijah soundly to shut him up.

I just watch them, silently. Elijah's right. It isn't the same.

That night, in Elijah's hotel room, we all pretend that nothing has changed. Maybe they even believe it. But it isn't the same. They invite me to bed willingly, eagerly, but I can see all of Dom's stuff in Elijah's closet. I still have my own room. They kiss me, they fuck me, but they instinctively curl up against each other to sleep. And ever since we got back to New Zealand, they've been talking a blue streak together, and I can hardly get a word in edgewise. Maybe I don't even want to. It's been too long.

It was all about Dominic, you know. From the start. Damned if I know why. And for a while, I thought we'd worked out an ideal situation. But somewhere along the line, he chose, or Elijah did, or I did. I can't blame them.

But I _can_ slip out of bed, now that they're asleep. I can gather my clothes. I can slip back to my own hotel room, and stay there. That I can do. And close their door behind me as I go, softly, gently. Closing. Click. Shut.

This is the way it's supposed to be.

* * *


End file.
